Changmin has never been one to procrastinate. He's always been order and structure and sharp words, never silly plays and day dreams. So when he's spent months of what feels like an eternity, conjuring up endless excuses to not clean up his apartment - that's when he knew he was suffering from a common case of clinging on to what is gone, typically a side effect of a heart break.

That Sunday morning, he wakes with the determination to rid of any traces of her. So he goes out and buys new sheets, one that's so androgynous its void of any femininity - there's no delicate prints, no quirky dots and definitely no flowers. Its plain blue and white stripes, not soft and not rough and she'd have gone back and exchanged it for something 'silk' or 'combed cotton'. It's flannel, it's perfect and yet he couldn't get a good night rest out of it.

He discovers bobby pins and hair ties, everywhere – tugged in between the crack of his couch, under his bed, on his bed, under his pillow, in the kitchen, all over his night stand. He spends hours nitpicking every single one of them out of every single corner he could think of and yet, the next morning when he's driving back out from a nice lunch with old friends, he'll find some in the cup holder when he reaches for his phone.

He finds Polaroids – mostly of her pulling silly faces and him avoiding the camera. There's two of him really looking into the camera, one in where there's a ghost of his smile. He throws those away and the other 32 with only her, he stashes away in between pages of different magazines she used to flip through whenever she was bored.

There are boxes of camomile tea and raspberry tea and strawberry tea and a whole lot of tea he never drinks. In fact he had always preferred coffee so he returns to his old habit, black coffee, two spoons of sugar and no tea. He feels a little satisfaction knowing that if she was here, she would undoubtedly disapproved. Then he remembers that she's not here to tell him what to do anymore and pours his coffee down the sink. Changmin stopped enjoying coffee a long time ago.

Her whole music discography is tucked away safely on the shelves next to his own. He considers discarding it, she doesn't get much lines anyway. One evening on a whim, he throws one of the CDs in the player and finds himself rewinding the three second of her singing for the next thirty minutes. He steps on it later that night, too drunk to put it back in its case.

Changmin will walk pass cafés and restaurants they frequently visit and he'll avoid looking into the windows in fear that she would be sitting across her new lover, sharing her favorite dish. He'll call those places for take outs in the night time and orders all the things they used to, only alone.

In his bathroom, there's an overwhelming amount of skincare products she receives after she became the face of the brand. Some still with label and wrappings, her face is plastered on it in hundred different ways and he leaves all of them exactly where he found them.

Collection of romance genre films fills his cabinet of DVDs. 'He's Just Not That Into You' is her personal favorite and the utmost annoying of them all - with whiny characters and weak witty remarks that aren't laugh worthy but he watches it anyway, grumbling on about how horrid every moment is. It's only when the credit starts to roll that he reminds himself that she wasn't there to begin with, even if it felt like she was sitting right there all along.

Her scarves are draped over every piece of clothing in his closet. He unwraps the pink one from the t-shirt he chooses to wear that day. Her smell clings to him until he scrub his body bare in the shower. He will realize later on that it's her soap he was using.

Any newsletter with her new boyfriend's name on it lands in the bin because he can't hear 'Lee Seungi' without wondering when it was that he became a thing of her past and found such a quick replacement for her future. He'll reads the newspaper, inevitably pause in the gossip section when there's news about the 'happy couple' and re-reads the column in hope of finding out just exactly how it is that he makes her happy.

He figures it's time to call cable and cancel his subscription because there is not a channel he can watch without seeing her face, her smile, her boyfriend, her show, her advertisements. Yunho showed him an episode of her new drama and turns it off after five minutes to stop him from hurling all over the rug.

Her slipper doesn't budge from its usual location, next to his so when he finally throws it out along with her scarves; he has no choice but to throw out his own pair too.

He considers deleting the 'I love you' and the 'I miss you' texts from his phone and figures why not just buy a phone all together. He does but nevertheless; he never got rid of his old one nor the messages within it.

Everyday he'll discover new things to join the old things in the trash and he'll feel liberated, a refreshing feeling of starting anew, until he stumbles across her white summer dress he shoves in a box but refuses to discard and ends up back at square one. It doesn't matter how many things of hers he rids off, Yoona is still the entirety of his existence and now when he thinks about it, maybe someday there'll be other loves or maybe there'll never be anything but her and maybe, there's really nothing wrong with that.